


Degrees of Happiness

by Tamoline



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirabelle is a witch, who protects the local village from the ravages of the night storms with the power of her voice.</p><p>Mirabelle has layers, a past shaped by her mother, a past that will shape her future with her own daughter.</p><p>Come, smile with Mirabelle, as she makes her way through life, always happy.</p><p>Always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A new day dawns

Once upon a time there was a tower, and that tower had a witch. The witch had a daughter, who had a daughter, who had a daughter; an unbroken chain of witches to Sing away the night storms that plagued the kingdom. In their gratitude for this protection, the villagers pledged service to the tower and its witch, as did their children, and their children's children, so that the witches could continue to Sing. And the tower protected, just as it always had. Just as it always would.

* * *

The first sliver of sunlight crests the horizon, kissing my eyes with its golden warmth. My heart thunders with a fierce joy, the last notes of my Song soaring heavenward as if on wings of fire. And, finally, it's over. The sun rises, and the night storm dies.

Released, I collapse to the slick stone floor of the tower roof like a puppet with its strings cut. My first night Song is finished. *My* Song. *I* kept the storms at bay: I am truly a witch of the tower. I just about glow with triumph even as my body is wracked with shudders. My lungs burn as I gasp for breath; my throat feels as though it's been scoured raw with sandpaper. I make a brief, futile wish for the jug of water my mother usually keeps up here, but it's gone. Gone with her.

She's gone.

Triumph ebbs, and memory seeps into the spaces it leaves behind. Although I'm already sprawled in an ungainly heap, I feel my body sagging, darkness crowding my vision. For a long moment the exhaustion -- both physical and mental -- threatens to overwhelm me. As I start to crumple, my descent into darkness is arrested by the sound of a child's laughter. The ghost girl; my ghost girl, my childhood companion. Distracted, I instinctively brace myself with my hands, palms flat against the rain-shined stones. When my skin makes contact with the tower, it's as if a jolt of energy shoots straight through me. For a brief, glorious moment, I can feel the vastness of it; the history. The sheer presence. Its strength shores up my weakness and, clear-headed once more, I push myself to my feet.

Although I scan the rooftop hopefully she is nowhere to be seen, and there is something I need to do now. It's something I can't put off any longer. Fighting back my natural tendency to dance and shout with glee at the completion of my first successful night Song, I take a deep, sobering breath and make myself turn around. I have to see what damage the slip caused; what the night storm did in between the time her Song ended and mine began. Powerful emotions burn in my chest, fighting to make themselves heard, but I forcibly push them back down. I can't think about her just yet. It's too much. Too much. So I make myself focus on the here and now, leaning on the lip of the tower for support as I cast my gaze over the village below. The early morning light bathes the scene in blood, showing me everything. Showing me more than I can properly take in. Debris strewn hither and thither. Houses splintered and wrecked. Lives undoubtedly destroyed. And what can I offer them?

A smile, a laugh, an attempt to share my natural joy?

No. As a witch of the tower -- the only witch of the tower now -- the only thing I can offer, the only thing I *should* offer, is my best attempt to stop this happening tonight. And the night after that and every night thereafter until the tower releases me from my duties. My mother, and all the books of my predecessors, have taught me this. There is no other release for me. There must always be a witch in the tower. No matter what I might wish, no matter how the horizon might call the child within me.

Now that my mother...

My shoulders shake, hot water flowing down my face, and I start to hiccup as a confusing medley of emotions fills me. Unnumbered, unnamed, I don't know what to do with them, what to do at all until I catch the sound of footsteps from the stairwell. For a moment I hope, almost, but then I recognise the dark curls of one of the women from the village, returning with the morning to serve her mistress.

My mother, not me. I'm reminded of that as her eyes pass over me with barely a pause, almost like I'm not here. Like I'm just one of my ghosts; one shadow among many. I school my expression carefully anyway, steeling myself for the inevitable question. Sure enough, after scouting out what few hiding places the roof boasts, the serving woman's gaze reluctantly drifts back towards to me.

"Where is the Lady?" she asks softly, nervously, as if she has already guessed the answer. Her bony hands twist and turn, writhing and fluttering against each other like moth wings, or a nest of agitated snakes.

I can't answer her. Saying the words might make it real, and I... I'm not ready for that yet. Instead I point over the tower's edge, in the direction I saw my mother fly.

The woman falls to her knees, shuddering and keening, overcome. Maybe I should say something; do something. But what? I have no words for this, for her. At a loss, I bow my head and turn away, bracing myself on the parapet as I offer her the only gift I know how to give: silence. Before I know it, word has spread to the rest of the village and everything stops, even the efforts to rescue those trapped in shattered buildings. Everyone loved her, loved her so very much.

I'm left alone, forgotten in this outpouring of grief. And I'm content with that.

I'm happy with pretty much anything. It's as much a part of me as the pale brown of my eyes or the straggly, rusty nature of my hair; the way my lips curve upwards in a perpetual smile, or the way that laughter always seems to be ready to bubble up from beneath my words. It's just the way I am.

But I can't be here. Not now. And no one's going to miss me unless I'm not back by this evening.

I head to the front door and pause briefly to rest my hand upon the heavy oaken frame, promising silently that I'll return by nightfall. The grain is smooth beneath my fingers, the wood worn slick and shiny by the hands of those who came before me. My ancestors; the witches of the tower, all making their own silent promises.

A slight pressure relaxes -- my word has been accepted. I let out a breath that I didn't even know that I had been holding.

I feel free. Almost as free as I did yesterday.

My destination is the wood that lies to the west of the tower, marking the boundary of its dominion on that side. It presents a forbidding aspect, still only dimly lit from the early morning light, but I'm not exactly worried about whatever may lurk in its shadows. I'm a witch. If anything, the balance of power is the other way around. And there isn't another witch to replace me.

There must always be a witch of the tower.

It's one of the rules, immutable.

It's why I keep half an eye cast backwards, making sure I don't inadvertently stray too far. I wouldn't want to get too far away from the tower, even with my promise. I've never done it myself, but I've read the diaries of witches who have. It sounds... unpleasant.

I take a moment to look at the wood. It's curiously untouched by the night storm.

Good.

It had looked that way from the top of the tower, but things can look so different from down here.

Its pristine state is balm to my nerves, allowing... things to slip from my mind.

If only for a minute. But it's enough. I draw a breath and make my way forward. Time is ticking away, bringing me ever closer to my first evening. Alone.

I want to spend some time at the pond before then.

It's cold beneath the trees. The trickle of sunlight that makes it through the leafy canopy isn't enough to drive away the night's chill. I shiver a little, rubbing my arms to drive away the goosebumps that prickle my skin.

I briefly wish that I was wearing my cloak, heavy and uncomfortable though it is. Traditional garb of the witch that it is.

I prefer to be free and unweighted by anything.

But mother always insists that I maintain the proper image of a witch.

Always insisted.

I shiver again, shudder really, but not at the cold, and pick up the pace. I'll warm up quickly enough if I just keep moving.

Anyway, I'm glad of the nip in the air. It's bracing.

It's distracting.

Inhaling a deep breath to drive away the cobwebs, I slow my steps, taking the time to appreciate the beauty of the wood; forest, rather. This rambling sprawl of trees hasn't been small enough to be called a wood since before living memory, but the title has stuck. Just like Stormhold is really a bustling town, but to anyone and everyone around here -- including me -- it's simply the village. The weight of tradition, I suppose.

I pause briefly to admire a cat's cradle of silver thread strung with diamonds. An ordinary spider's web transformed by dew and sunlight into something that almost takes my breath away. Not that they aren't works of art all by themselves, but their beauty is usually of a more unprepossessing sort. I stand there for a few moments, drinking in the sight, and then I continue on my way.

A little way into the wood -- still safely within the tower's shadow -- the trees part to reveal a pond. The pond is large enough to swim across, and is fed by a cheerfully babbling stream that keeps the water fresh and clean. I love this place. It's pretty and peaceful and the villagers don't come here much. It's like my own private paradise. I don't know why they don't come here. Maybe they were ordered not to. I know I'm not the first witch to find this place. Maybe one of them, in times past, decided to ensure her privacy, and the edict has persisted even after the witch herself is nothing but dust on the wind. It wouldn't be the first time. These are the things that tend to become part of village lore: don't touch the poisonous toads, don't poke the wasp's nest on the green. Don't go to the pond in the woods. Why is the pond off-limits? no idea, but there must be a reason for it.

Maybe they don't come here because of the ghosts. Well, one ghost in particular. My ghost girl plays here, sometimes. I don't see *why* her presence would keep people away; she's always been friendly to me. Anyway, I don't think anyone but me even knows she's here. Or any of the other ghosts that haunt the area. There seem to be a lot of ghosts here, but as far as I know I'm the only one who can see them. Certainly, none of the villagers have ever admitted to it, or showed any awareness of the insubstantial figures that haunt the tower and pond. Even my mother... Well, I never really liked to ask her -- she could get so angry -- but even she didn't seem able to see the ghosts.

My mother, past tense.

My shoulders start to shake again, the churning mix of emotions rising inside of me once more. I wrap my arms around myself as if I can keep them inside through sheer force of will, clinging to the storm-tossed threads like they're the last remnants of my mother. If I were truly grasping with my hands, rather than my heart, my knuckles would be stark white. My lungs start to burn from the breath I hadn't realised I was holding, but I keep it trapped within my chest until I feel the maelstrom start to subside. For the moment.

Maybe I'll be able to stifle the inevitable outburst until this evening, when I can sing my emotions out to the night storm without anyone else hearing. Maybe. But I doubt that I'll be that lucky.

Uncurling my clenched, cramped muscles, I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pond, opening myself up to the memories it brings.

When I'm calm, I can feel the ghost girl's presence here. Just her's, no one else's. She feels happy, like laughter on a spring day. When I can get away and when I'm in the mood, I like to spend time here, catching glimpses of my ghost girl frolicking and playing out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes, I imagine that she's the one who's flesh and blood and I'm the ghost, simply watching her go about her life. Strangely, that thought makes me happy.

But then everything makes me happy. Even when it really shouldn't.

With that thought the shakes come again, and this time I can't hold them back. Staccato gasping and then hiccuping laughter forces itself out of my mouth, bubbling into the cool air like a river bursting its banks. I am helpless to stop the flood, though my joy feels like acid and razorblades.

I'm happy and it feels like it should kill me.

Finally, finally it's all gone, and I'm left with a low level contentment that feels as empty as anything as I can remember. My limbs are rubbery and weak, but I force myself to look cautiously around, just in case anyone has come to investigate the inappropriate mirth. To my relief, I can't see or hear a soul. Everyone loved my mother so much (and not me, never me) that I half think they might try and lynch me if they found me right now.

And that wouldn't be good for anyone concerned. I've read accounts of similar things, and it never ends well.

The tower is a jealous mistress, and there must always be a witch of the tower. For now, that's me. This is an inalienable truth of my world, as true as anything that I might Say.

My thoughts are travelling in circles, as close to brooding as I get, so I lift my face to the sunlight streaming through the gap in the trees, letting it warm me body and soul. I let the sounds of the forest -- the trilling of a songbird; the stream's merry burbling -- wash over me as I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the spring-scented air. Soon enough, I regain something like my usual equilibrium. Now I can think about the night's events and what they mean for the future without another outburst.

That's part of why I'm here, after all.

Moving slowly and cautiously, I climb down the rocks to a large flat stone at the very edge of the pool. Somehow, I beat the odds on my clumsiness and avoid tripping on my way down. Despite the early hour, the stone has already started to warm from the sun's rays, and I lay down on it to gaze thoughtfully into the watery depths.

I see my reflection, red eyed, looking up at me with a slight smile on her lips. The tower stands behind her, reaching towards the sky as if it would seek to rival the Titans themselves. For a moment, I see my ghost girl reflected alongside me, blonde curls damp as though she's just been swimming, one eyebrow raised in challenge. I instinctively glance to one side, but of course she isn't there. I knew she wouldn't be, but I had to look anyway. I always do.

I return my gaze to the water. Moving slowly, languidly, I stretch out my hand and stir the surface, watching the ripples spread, collide and multiply, dissolving the tower -- and me -- into a thousand fragments of light and shadow. My life feels like that right now: turbulent, chaotic; in flux. When the ripples finally still, I wonder what picture will be revealed. I wonder what the future, my future, will bring...

* * * 

Maybe it will start with someone coming to find me.

There's a rustling in the foliage; time for a moment of confusion before a figure emerges from the trees, startling me out of my contemplation. I jump a little, unable to help myself, as I turn to face the only person other than my mother and my ghost girl that I've ever seen out here. I see a tall, willowy young woman, slender and lithe, blonde curls framing a face that's heart-breakingly close to the one that my ghost girl might have worn if she had ever grown up. There are faint laughter lines at the corners of her full lips and cornflower blue eyes, but right now her expression is serious.

I bet she has a beautiful smile.

She pauses in her approach, looking cautiously down at me as if expecting... something. Anything other than what I'm probably broadcasting right now this moment, more than likely. Still, she is looking at *me*, the first person to do so in longer than I can remember.

"Lady Mirabelle?" she asks. Her voice is startlingly loud in the peaceful glade.

The honorific surprises me. I'm not a lady. That was my mother. It occupies me enough that I'm lost for a minute, groping for words that skitter further and further out of my reach.

"Lady Mirabelle?" she repeats. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"No, nothing," I murmur, finally finding my voice.

My unexpected visitor wrinkles her forehead as if in concentration, then twitches her shoulders in a minute shrug. Her face clears. "I'll join you down there," she announces, still speaking too loudly for the distance between us. Before I can say anything (not that I seem to be able to muster more than a word or two at the moment), she is in motion, hopping down from one rock to another before pausing again. "If that's fine with you, ma'am?" It's somewhat ambiguous if the question is about the action or the honorific. This is definitely a change from how the villagers treated my mother. Or me, for that before I...

Before.

But then, *before*, I couldn't imagine anyone coming to find me unless it was on my mother's orders.

While I ponder, she resumes her descent, apparently answering my question as to what the question actually was. I kind of like that.

"Mirabelle," I decide.

She looks up at my pronouncement. Unfortunately this coincides with a step onto a water slicked rock and her feet shoot from underneath her. As she plunges downwards, I move without thinking, managing to get beneath her in time to catch her. Bracing my feet, I steady us both on the rock I leaped to, halting her near-disastrous tumble.

"Sorry," I apologise, "I didn't mean to be so clumsy." The words slip out by instinct, without thought.

She's breathing heavily in my arms, looking up at me. There's something a little off in the direction of her gaze, but I can't quite place what it is. She mouths my words silently, almost disbelievingly, then raises an eyebrow.

"Excuse me? Can you repeat that? I think I must have made a mistake." Her tone is anything but deferential. My mother would have had conniptions.

My lips quirk upwards involuntarily as I repeat the apology. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so clumsy."

The eyebrow shows no sign of going anywhere. "That's what I thought you said. After I was the one to slip and you were the one to quite ably catch me." She clambers out of my supporting arms and stands near me on the rock, looking me in the face.

I flush a little. "It was my fault." I think for a moment, then add, "I distracted you when you were climbing down."

"No, that was entirely my own fault. I should know better by now." Her gaze turns inwards for a second, before focussing on me again. "What did you say, anyway? Ma'am," she adds a little belatedly.

I think back and reply, "Mirabelle."

She wrinkles her brow in confusion. (A part of me notes, absently, that she really does have the most expressive face.) "Excuse me?"

I smile at her. "I decided that I prefer Mirabelle to ma'am, or whatever else they've told you to call me." My smile widens a bit more. "You don't seem to be that good at remembering the title anyway," I say as lightly as I can.

It's her turn to blush, which she manages quite prettily, I note. "I guess you have me there."

One of the things that had been nagging at me suddenly snaps into focus. "You don't seem to be too distressed," I say cautiously. Everyone loved my mother. Everyone. Even here I can still hear muffled wails as the village mourns en masse. Yet this girl, this woman, is able to smile at me like she means it.

I mean, I smile, but then I always smile.

Her eyes flicker away frome me briefly before she fixes her gaze back in place. "I loved the Lady. It's just..." Her voice trails off into silence, then she heaves a deep breath and tries again. "It's just that I was chosen to serve you and to look after your needs as the new witch of the tower."

Her voice indicates something. I don't know what it is, so I just reply neutrally, "Oh."

She flushes again, but this time it looks like anger. "It's not right. They didn't... The only reason I was chosen was because I'm usel... Is because I'm deaf."

"Oh," I repeat, this time with understanding. I know that this was probably meant as a slight, a meeting of the requirements in the barest manner possible. I know I should feel insulted, maybe even as angry as she seems to be on my behalf, but all I feel is relief. She's deaf!

My new companion looks embarrassed, humiliated and angry, caught between looking down and peeking at me, trying to read any response I might make. She looks a little surprised as I hug her, then release her.

"I don't know if it helps," I mouth to her, not using my voice at all. "But you're the only person that I'd want to be my..." I think for a second, "Aide," I decide on. I smile brilliantly at her, my naturally sunny disposition reaserting itself, despite everything, and she smiles back at me. "I never asked your name."

"Claudia," she says, and the name seems familiar from somewhere. I just can't place it though. Maybe it will come to me later.

"How do you know what I'm saying?" I ask. If she's deaf...

Claudia smiles proudly at me. "I taught myself to read the movement of people's lips." She shrugs. "It isn't as good as being able to hear, but it allows me to get by."

"Could you teach me to do that?" It seems only right to learn how she listens.

She looks at me for a second, before shrugging. "Sure." She hesitates for a second, then adds, "If you'll teach me to read." The words tumble out in a rush, as if she can't quite believe that she's saying them and wants to get the request out before she loses the nerve.

I nod as gravely as I can manage. "That seems fair."

She flashes me a crooked smile, relief and happiness shining in her eyes. "Thanks."

"Come on, then," I say to her, grabbing her hand. "Let's go back to the tower. Maybe you can help save me from my clumsiness."

She shoots me a look, but then follows up the rocks behind me, moving cautiously enough that I have to slow my usual dash so she can keep up with me.

Halfway up, I wonder offhandedly how she knew to find me here, but I can't ask her now, and by the time we reach the top, the thought has left my mind completely.

* * *

I finished pulling my daughter's unruly red hair into the best semblance of a braid that I could.

"There," I said to Mirabelle's reflection. "What do you think?"

She flashed me a close approximation of her usual smile in response. Close, but not quite.

I frowned at her. "It's your eighteenth birthday, and you've come into your power." If anything, her smile lost a further notch. Sometimes, most of the time, I just didn't understand her at all. "Aren't you excited?"

"Yes?" she replied, her tone making it more of a question than I thought she realised.

I sighed and held her to me as she relaxed into my arms. She was my baby, the most important thing in my life, and she wasn't the only one who was having problems with her growing up.

"You'll be fine," I told her. "I was fine my first time, and my mother didn't help me at all." An old wound, but still there, ready to sting at the slightest pressure. "Just follow my lead, and everything will be fine."

I let her go, and she got to her feet and followed me as I left the confines of my bedroom. A backwards glance showed me that she was tugging her braid. Already strands were escaping. I sighed.

"Leave your hair alone. Even our Singing cannot damp the winds entirely, and the last thing you want is a mouth full of hair mid-song. Besides, you're a Lady like me now. Don't you want to look the part?"

Her smile was soft, but mutinous and utterly stubborn. "I'm not a Lady," she said goodnaturedly. "I don't think even you can change that."

Trying to get through to her when she was in this kind of mood was useless. I decided to dismiss it from my mind. If she got a mouthful of hair tonight, it would serve her right. All the better to teach her that Mother knows best. If it was going to happen, better it did so tonight when I'd be there to protect her and the lands beyond.

As we arrived at the roof, the sun was sinking beneath the ocean. The winds hadn't picked up yet, but they would soon.

I looked at her one last time. The subtle hint of strain was still present around her eyes. Time for one last quick attempt at reassurance. I took her hand and squeezed it. "What's wrong?" I asked softly.

She looked me in the eyes. Upon anyone else, that would be a look of joy. Excitement, even. I knew her better. "What if..?" she asked, glancing downwards, towards her feet.

She didn't need to complete the question.I knew all about her lack of confidence in her grace, and it squeezed my heart painfully.

But it was no time indulge myself that way. I guided her hand to a stone crenellation still warm from the day and held it there. "The tower protects."

"The tower protects," she repeated, a little uncertainly.

"Can't you feel it?"

She paused, then nodded. Just a little at first, but then with more vigour. "Yes," she said, her smile restored to its usual glory.

My daughter, I thought, my throat thick with emotion. Even with her hair starting to trail in the wind, despite the somewhat scruffy air she somehow managed to bring to our traditional clothing, she was my daughter, my perfect daughter.

"I love you," I Told her, with all of my heart. I saw a flicker of emotion pass over her face, and made a mental note to ask her about it in the morning. My words may not have had the force they once did with her maturity, but still...

There was no time to ponder now. The storm winds would be here in seconds.

I took a deep breath, steadied my footing upon the stones, and Sang. Sang the winds away. Sang with every ounce of what I am.

Here, there was no world outside, nothing but me and this rooftop. It was perfect, timeless.

Until a body fell into me, knocking me off balance, breaking my concentration.

The winds didn't give me a second chance. I had just enough time to see a red framed face mouthing a word, Sorry, before I was slammed into a crenellation and the breath dashed from me.

The tower wouldn't save me. It had a successor.

I was up in the air. I was flying.

I had been a good witch, hadn't I? Everyone had loved me.

I had been a good mother, hadn't I? I had given Mirabelle all my love, everything that I could, everything *my* mother hadn't.

I just wished that I could smooth her hair one last time, tell her that she didn't have to say 'Sorry, I didn't mean to be so clumsy'...

That it wasn't even true.

A note sang out. My daughter's voice! She could Sing! I knew she could!

With the renewed song, the wind dropped.

And with it, so did I.

I was so proud. I was so-


	2. Ghosts

Maybe after a few weeks...

I pause near the kitchen, seeing Claudia furiously mouthing to herself. I'm not very good at lip reading yet, but I'm fairly sure she's using some words that I would have been sternly scolded for even knowing.

I bounce into the kitchen, waving to get her attention once I'm in her field of vision. She puts the knife down and looks up at me. "Mirabelle?" Her intonation is somewhat off, but I'm *fairly* sure she's still using the same tone of voice that she used to say ma'am in. Obviously I haven't managed to completely break her in yet.

And we had such a promising start, too.

"What's wrong?" I enquire.

"Nothing," she says, then adds "Apart from that they'll only send *me* to serve you. It's not right."

"They've got enough on down at the village." They're rebuilding. And, well, everyone has been down since that night. Some people have even died. I haven't enquired too closely, but I think that they might have just given up when they found her body. Died of love. The thought is almost enough to give me a shiver. But the melancholy makes such thoughts slide all too easily from my mind, leaving nothing but my day to day happiness. "Are you having problems?"

"Looking after this tower is *not* a one person job." A fierce scowl underscores the words, and I can't help notice that her face is so much more *alive* than that of anyone else I've ever seen. "And you know that they would have had people up here to serve your mother regardless."

I smile. I attempt gentleness with it, but I'm not sure it comes out that way as something swirls beneath the surface of my contentment. "They loved my mother."

Claudia looks at me, hard, for a minute before saying slowly and clearly, "They should love you too."

I shrug, affecting carelessness. "They don't. And I'm fine with that." More fine than I can say, even to myself. But this is becoming too... intense, so I smile and bounce up to the counter. "So, if this is a more than one person job, how can I help? It's not as though I need to rest during the day."

Claudia freezes for a moment, blinking owlishly at me. I burst out laughing at the utterly poleaxed look on her face. That's the first time I've managed to do that to her. Finally, she shakes off the shock and says, firmly, "You can't."

I turn up the intensity of my smile a notch. "Why not?"

She stutters for a moment. "It's- it's not appropriate."

My smile may possibly contain a trace of triumph. "Now you sound like my mother."

She scowls, and I know that I've got her. "Fine," she practically growls. "What do you want us to do?"

I do my best imitation of her trademark raised eyebrow. "Why are you asking me? Aren't you the expert?" She still seems a little hesitant, so I place my hands in hers. "Guide my hands, oh great mistress of the tower."

She subjects me to the eyebrow for just a few moments more, then grips my hands firmly, smiling mischievously. "You may regret this."

 

"Do you have something you want to say?" I ask, smiling.

Claudia looks briefly away, and then back to me again. She doesn't reply, and I rather suspect that she's trying to affect innocence.

It doesn't work.

"That's the fifth time I've caught you looking at me as though you want to say something," I prod, possibly a little ungently. But I want to know more about her, what she thinks, what makes her laugh.

What causes the sad looks I sometimes see cross her face.

Sadness isn't something I'm good at. But maybe my joy can help dispel it.

And the first step is getting to know her.

She looks a little conflicted, then nods to herself, apparently coming to a decision. "You don't seem to recognise me, Mirabelle."

That's not strictly true, but I can't exactly tell her that she reminds me of a ghost that haunts the tower. Instead, I shake my head instead. "No, I don't. Should I?"

"Well," she starts.

I feel dizzy.

"Get out of the kitchen," a voice admonishes sternly. It's not Claudia's.

Where Claudia was standing, there's now one of my ghosts. The woman. She's waving a spoon at me, no, past me, towards the doorway. I turn to follow it, but there's nothing there.

"Are you alright?" Claudia's voice asks. I turn back to where she was, and now she's there again, looking at me with a concerned expression.

My eyes are blurry. I blink, to clear them. Claudia's worried look intensifies. I smile to try and soothe her, wipe her fears away, but I'm a little distracted. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, a distant roaring in my ears. A niggling little feeling that something is a little off kilter. I'm not exactly sure how. It doesn't matter.

Claudia isn't looking convinced by my smile, so I take a couple of steps forward and touch her arm in what's supposed to be a reassuring manner. "I'm fine," I tell her.

It's just a ghost. These things happen sometimes in this tower. Even if no one else can see them, even if no one else believes me. Best not to risk her thinking less of me.

What were we talking about? Oh, yes.

"So, we were talking about how I didn't seem to recognise you?" Even though I really think that I would have done if I had ever met her before. She's around my age, but I didn't have any contact with other children when I was younger.

Well, except my ghost girl, back when she still spoke to me. But I don't think that she counts.

In the meantime, as my scattered wits wander every which way, Claudia's face has acquired a distinctly confused expression. "We'd moved well past that."

I imagine that my expression is mirroring hers. "We had?" I just saw a ghost for a moment, no longer. How could 'we' have moved well past anything in that time?

I notice that I'm holding a cloth, seemingly half way through wiping a surface.

Hadn't I been preparing a meal?

That niggling feeling is back, and it's pushing its way right to the forefront of my mind.

"We were talking about-" Claudia says.

Oh no!

Dizziness blurs my vision.

"Shhhhh!" whispers the voice of my ghost girl. She's standing right in front me, eyes alight with mischief as she prepares to steal a cookie.

There's something wrong, but I can't think what it is, can't think of anything at all except that I'd really like one as well.

Then I'm back in my kitchen and my eyes aren't just blurring this time, they're streaming.

I'm crying. Why am I crying?

And where's Claudia?

A quick search finds her lying on the floor, dreadfully pale. Terribly, terribly still. I drop to my knees, reach out a shaking hand.

Oh, goddess. Please...

She's still breathing.

She has a pulse.

She's still alive.

Good. That's good.

I haven't lost her.

As my mind quietly babbles in relief, I automatically set about making her as comfortable as I can. I don't want to move her, just in case...

Just in case.

The best thing for it is to wait until she wakes up naturally, which should be soon. Minutes at most. Maybe an hour or two.

Please wake up.

Please.

 

Sundown is looming too close for my comfort when Claudia finally stirs. If it had been any later, I would have first tried some water and, if that had failed, dragged her as far from the tower as possible before the sun hit the horizon.

It's not safe to be here when night falls. Not unless you're a witch.

But there's a little bit of time yet.

"How are you feeling?"

She winces. "Like the tower fell on my head."

I laugh nervously. "You're more right than you know. You're very lucky."

She sits up, slowly, holding her head in both hands as if she's afraid it'll fall right off her neck. "I really don't feel that way."

"You're alive. When the tower acts, it's usually not so lighthanded. If you're not a witch."

Her eyes widen a bit at that. "What do you mean?"

"You know the old saying, 'There must always be a witch in the tower'?" She nods. "The tower enforces that. If someone threatens the witch, and the witch doesn't take care of the situation herself, the tower steps in."

She looks really confused. "But I wasn't threatening you. All I was doing was-"

I leap across the room and place my hand over her mouth. Making sure that her eyes are on mine, I take care to enunciate my next words very clearly. She *needs* to understand this. "All you were doing was telling me something that I can't hear. That the tower clearly doesn't want me to hear. If you try to talk about it again, then the tower will kill you."

The colour drains from her face and she closes her mouth so fast that I hear her teeth click together. Flicking her gaze from side to side, she glances nervously from at the stonework as if she's expecting it to move.

I wonder if she'll be back tomorrow.

"I don't know exactly what's happening, but I can make a guess," I continue after sitting back down. "Witches can speak truth. Not objective truth, but the more important truth, the one that goes on inside people's heads. If you were ever around my mother and other people, you might have noticed this." But she could never have experienced it herself, thank goodness. She's deaf. She couldn't hear the words. She'd have protection.

She nods slowly.

"There are differing levels of force a witch can use. And at the strongest, the most brutal, the truth is inscribed so deeply into a person's mind that it rejects any attempt to dislodge it." Well, at the very strongest level it kills, but that doesn't exactly convince anyone of anything. "I've seen accounts of people who have died when someone else tried to convince them that their truth was wrong."

"And you think..."

"This power does work on witches before they have come into their full ability. And, yes, I do know that from personal experience." I've identified some of the truths my mother had given to me, but how do I know what is truly me and what has been forced on me?

"Oh," Claudia says. "Oh." Her eyes fill with tears, and suddenly she's sobbing as if something has been broken inside of her.

Before I really know what I'm doing, I'm next to her on the sofa, holding her in my arms, and she collapses into me, clutching me back.

Somehow, this feels right.

"I'd thought... I 'd hoped that if anyone would believe me, it would be you. But-"

I shush her gently and hold her head to my shoulder, keeping an eye on the sinking sun. There's time yet.

She's in pain, and though I can't really know what that's like, I can help by being there.

And as her tears soak my shirt, I feel the kind of happiness that comes from helping others.

* * *

There was a noise at my bedroom door. I looked over to see a familiar smiling red teenage head poke its way into the room.

"Mirabelle?" I asked. She danced into the room and curtsied. Sometimes she was so graceful it took my breath away.

"You do realise that you're supposed to be in bed right now." My tone made it not a question.

She ducked her head shyly, smiling at me. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She ducked her head again.

"Talk to me about it," I Told her.

"There's-" she said, then blinked, pausing. For a moment I felt almost afraid, but then she continued. "There are ghosts in my room," she admitted softly. Relief flooded through me.

"Ghosts?"

"There are four. Two men, a woman and a girl." She paused, biting her lip, as my heart lurched at the description. There was no way... I struggled to find words, but before I managed to do so, she continued, "They're angry. So very angry."

The mention of anger seemed to galvanise my own. "There's no such thing as ghosts," I Told her, my voice harsh.

She blinked as my words washed over her. "Okay," she said, but I could see that she wasn't convinced. She wasn't convinced.

"There's no such thing as ghosts," I Told her again.

She just ducked her head, not looking me in the eyes. She still didn't believe me.

"There's no such thing as ghosts!" I Screamed.

 

"There you are," I said, having finally located her curled up, staring deep into that pond she tended to frequent, one finger tracing patterns on the surface.

"Hello, mother," she said.

"I'm sorry," I told her. "I didn't mean to- to scream at you like that."

"I know."

"I love you."

She turned to smile at me, allowing me to see a bruise disfiguring one cheek.

"Oh, Mirabelle," I said, descending to her side to cradle her in my arms.

Her smile took on an embarrassed tinge. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so clumsy."

"Oh hush," I said, holding her to me so that she couldn't see my glistening eyes. "I didn't mean to- to scare you that much."

"It's okay, mother," she said, a little muffled. "It's okay."

"You can sleep in my room today if you want."

"Thanks," she smiled at me gratefully, melting my heart like she always could, and I somehow failed to add that she'd have to return to her room tomorrow.

I guessed it wasn't like I actually needed to use the bed anyway.

She never did move back out again.

* * *

Maybe one night...

As I do every night, I Sing the storms away until the dawn comes and the winds fade. Only then do I notice that there is someone else up on the roof with me. I just about have time to register the blonde figure curled up against a crenellation before realisation hits and I'm in motion. "Claudia!" I scream, all-but flying across the roof towards her body.

No one apart from a witch can survive being so near me when I'm singing. Even just being in the tower overnight is forbidden. Why...? How she is up here...?

It doesn't matter. I just want her back.

I hover above her body, not quite daring to touch her pale, presumably chill skin.

I shriek and jump as she twitches, then opens her eyes.

"You're- you're alive!"

She looks up at me and smiles sleepily. "I see your mastery of the obvious remains intact."

"What are you doing up here? You- you could have been killed!"

You should be dead. The thought is almost enough to make me... unhappy.

Her eyes soften, and then she pinches herself. "Ouch. Apparently not." She makes a rueful face. "Maybe I shouldn't do that so hard next time."

She succeeds in dispelling my mood and I laugh, happy again. Still concerned, though. And I can't help but notice that she is a lot more easy these days.

I'm fairly certain that my mother would have thrown a fit. The thought pleases me.

"You didn't answer my question," I note gently.

"I was working late one day. There's so much to do around here." A faintly selfmocking glint enters her eyes as she repeats her most common complaint. "And there's not nearly enough time now that winter is here. Before I realised it, it was a bit too late. Night had fallen." She pauses for effect.

"And?" I have to ask, as she knows I will.

"And nothing. I'm deaf, remember?"

"So that protects you from Singing as well?"

"Apparently." I'm quite sure how she manages to convey a dry tone without a tonal change, but she does. "So I started regularly staying late. Then," and she looks a little embarrassed, "I decided not to return to the village and just sleep in one of the rooms of the tower." Hence the embarrassment. There's only two beds in the place.

"Wouldn't your family have been worried?" We have never talked family, I avoid the subject, but I couldn't imagine...

Her face closes. "They're not my family." A look of faint pain flashes across her face before she's back to her normal self. Her mouth twists in a smile. "They're probably glad to be rid of me."

I hug her impulsively, and she relaxes into my arms and smiles. She feels warm and soft and oh so alive.

"You don't need to worry. I've got you to look after now. Who needs family?"

I poke her. "Are you saying that you think of me as one of your putative children?"

She laughs and looks me over. "Not exactly, no." She thinks for a moment. "About as much trouble as three or four, maybe."

"That doesn't explain about what you're doing up here." Even if she's deaf...

"Well," she starts and her eyes choke up with emotion, "I was cleaning your rooms up here last night and..." her hands clench and tears start to trickle down her cheek, "And I *heard* something."

I blink. "You did?" She nods, seemingly unable to speak. "Me?" I ask. She nods again.

"It was the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me." She takes a shuddering breath and then continues, "I had to hear more, hear it clearer. So I came up to the roof and just listened." Her face shines and, just for a moment, I can almost see how much it means to her.

Then her face is closer, her lips on mine, and we're kissing. We're kissing. *I'm* kissing. Her!

Wow.

By the time that my thoughts manage to grind past that thought, she's moved away and is looking at me cautiously. "I hope..." she gestures in the air. "I'm sorry if..."

I blink. "It's fine." I take a breath, then feel a little panicked as I realise what I've just said. "Fine? I mean good. Great, even! Um..." My mind freezes again as I realise I have no idea what to do now.

She's smiling at me again, this time with a fond air. "Calm down, Mirabelle."

My stomach rumbles a bit.

Her grin kicks up a notch. "Let's go get you breakfast and talk things over down there."

Yes. Things.

She hugs me again, and whispers, "Thank you for giving me this back."

She joins me up there almost every night thereafter, with her own little arrangement of covers in one corner, watching and *listening* me sing the storms away.

We also talk. About things.


	3. Love is...

There was a scream from downstairs. A loud, piercing sound that spoke of pain and loss.

What was happening down there?

As I got closer, I heard the sound of meaty impacts, a woman's broken crying and some very familiar hiccuping laughter.

Mirabelle!

A man's voice growled, "You monster! You little monster! This is all *your* fault!" I willed my feet to move faster as I raced towards the source of the sounds. Mirabelle's room.

The door was half open, and inside I could see the housekeeper cradling her younger daughter to her chest. The girl's blonde hair was matted with dried blood. Her older daughter was standing by, mouth covered and crying. And as I reached the doorway, running by now, I could see the last member of the family, her husband, red faced with rage, holding Mirabelle against the wall, and slamming his fist into her again and again and again.

"Mirabelle!" I screamed.

"Mirabelle!" I *Screamed*.

And the room was painted with a spray of red.

 

I held the shivering Mirabelle against me. She had been bathed and was currently wrapped in a towel with just her head peeking out. She still gave the occasional hiccuping laugh and I could see the fear behind the smile on her ten year old face.

"What happened?" I asked her.

She ducked her head. "Claudia and I were playing with each other, and-" she looked up at me briefly, peeking through her eyelashes, then continued, "And I decided to have Claudia over for the night." Knowing Claudia, I very much doubted it was my daughter's idea.

"You know that no one else is allowed in the tower overnight."

She flinched at my voice, and let out another hiccuping laugh. "I'm sorry. I-" I placed a finger over her mouth as she began the familiar refrain, looking at her steadily until she closed her mouth. She ducked her head in acknowledgement. After I removed my finger, she continued her account. Her confession. "We thought that it was just another rule like-" She paused for a second, looking thoughtful. "Like not making the dining table into a Tower."

I remembered *that* incident all too clearly. Some of the marks were still there.

Mirabelle let out another hiccuping laugh. "It wasn't just another rule, though. As soon as you started singing, Claudia- Claudia fell over and started bleeding from her ears. I held her and screamed for help, but no one came. No one came! I thought about going to fetch someone, but I didn't want to leave her like that, all alone. No one *came*!" She smiled through her tears, looking up at me with pleading in her eyes. "I did the right thing, didn't I? She wouldn't have wanted to be left alone. Not liike that."

I stroked her hair absent mindedly. "You did the right thing."

"She's going to be alright, isn't she?" Mirabelle smiled almost trustingly up at me, and the almost tore at my heart. "And Eleanor and Miriam and Gregory?"

Oh. That's what their names were.

I remembered the blood, and looked away from Mirabelle, but not before I saw the fear lurking under the constant cheer. Fear of me.

No child should have to go through this. Mirabelle didn't mean any harm. She was blameless, innocent.

And I couldn't bear to have her look at me this way.

"Nothing happened," I Told her, putting all my passion into my voice. As she relaxed, as the traumatic memories started to fade, I added, "There never was a Claudia, or an Eleanor, or a Miriam, or a Gregory." I knew from experience that if I left loose ends like this, then there would be questions. And I didn't want either of us to go through that. "They never worked here, never lived in the village. We've had a number of different villagers serve us here." I'd have to make sure to do this to the village as well. No loose ends. None. Everyone loved me, and I wanted to keep it that way. "And none of this ever happened," I reiterated and held Mirabelle tight whilst what I had Told her filtered through.

After a few minutes, she blinked and winced as the pain from the bruises impinged on her again. "I'm sorry," she said, the obvious explanation for them occurring to her. "I didn't mean to be so clumsy."

It would be easiest. It would be for the best.

I kissed her on the head. "Just be more careful in future," I told her and placed her in my bed. "Now go to sleep," I Told her, and watched as her eyes drifted shut.

I had some bodies to arrange burials for and a village that needed to be Told.

I might not need to sleep, but goddess did I feel weary.

Being a mother is hard work.

* * *

Maybe after a few years...

My period still hasn't started. It's never late, as regular as clockwork, an unceasing cycle in my life. I'm fairly sure that it can only mean one thing.

I bounce over to Claudia and hug her tightly, then pull away a little to tell her the joyous news. "I'm pregnant! We're going to have a baby!"

I beam ecstatically at her, expecting her to answer my smile with one of her own. Instead, her face goes still and she twists away, stopping the conversation dead. I try and follow her movement, find out what's wrong, but it's remarkably hard to carry on a conversation with a deaf person who doesn't want to engage.

This should be happy news, shouldn't it? Happy-happy news, as opposed to the more general happy news.

I can't work out what's going on unless she tells me. But all my bouncing doesn't seem to be doing anything, and when I move in to hug her again, she just goes rigid until I let go.

Finally she says, "Just- just go. I'll find you when I'm willing to talk about *this*."

Something is definitely wrong, but I don't think staying here is going to help to fix it. I suppose she needs... time?

What did I do wrong?

Somewhat forlornly, I leave her to her jagged mood. I think about starting some of the housework that really needs to be done, but find that my enthusiasm is a little lacking for that. Instead, I find myself at the pond, stretched out on my favourite stone, fingers dangling in the water.

"Do you have any idea what's wrong?" I ask my ghost girl, but she doesn't respond.

Ghosts never do.

In any case, I find my mind wandering, returning to the happy thought bubbling within me.

I'm going to have a baby!

Oh my. Where will the child's room be? I can't give her my old one. The ghosts still haunt that one, though their presence has faded with the years. But still. I don't think that aura of anger would be right for a child. I guess, I guess that I could go back there. I think maybe I'd feel safe in Claudia's arms. If she forgives me, that is, for whatever it is that I've done wrong.

I would be happy, even if she left. But I'm not sure that I'd want to be. And I'm not sure that I want to think about the possibility of her leaving.

"Mirabelle?" I hear from behind me. I sit up and turn around to see Claudia descending. She's red-eyed, like she's been crying, and I want to hug and comfort her, but her face is firm and she's clearly still not happy. Well, at least she's talking to me.

I smile at her, but I don't touch.

"Who is he?" she asks, roughly, as though she's about to burst into tears.

I'm confused. "He?" I haven't even spoken to a he in years. Even though the rebuilding of the village is long finished, the villagers seem content to almost just forget about me. There are people who bring us supplies, yes, but Claudia deals with them.

I don't like interacting with people who aren't deaf. I'm always a little afraid that I might Tell them something.

Claudia points angrily at my stomach. "The father."

My smile turns a little puzzled. I shrug helplessly. What on earth is she talking about?

She lets out a breath explosively. "Babies don't just come from nowhere! Who did you have sex with?"

"Just you." Why would I *want* anyone else, when I have her?

"Well, I can't have gotten you pregnant! There must have been *someone*! Just tell me. Who is it?"

"No one." At her disbelieving look I add, "Honestly! What's a man got to do with having a baby anyway?" I still don't get the connection.

Claudia closes her eyes, shutting me off again. A hiccuping laugh forces itself from my lips, but I'm alone, with no one to hug me.

It's the loneliest kind of happiness.

She opens her eyes again, and the world seems a little brighter, even if she's looking more than a little frustrated. "Babies come from a man and a woman coupling."

"Really?" She nods. I consider the notion. "That seems... awfully inefficient," I muse. "From the diaries, witches just seem to have a child when they're ready." I flash her a grin. "No man necessary."

She collapses to the ground, looking completely drained. I'm on my feet in a flash, dancing my way up the rocks and gathering her up in my arms before I can really think twice. She turns and buries her head in my chest. I can feel warm tears dripping onto my skin, and the way her body shudders from the force of her sobs, but there's nothing I can say to her. I don't have the words. There's nothing I can do, except hold her as long as she wants.

Finally she stills and then, after a minute or two, dries her eyes and looks up at me. "Sorry," she says.

I'm just happy that she's talking to me again. "Are you upset with me still?"

She shakes her head. "No. I just thought- I couldn't see another explanation."

My smile turns a little playful. "I didn't know about the other way either. So, how exactly does it work?"

She raises an eyebrow and I know that we're going to be fine. "You're going to have to find someone else to explain that. Maybe one of your precious diaries has diagrams."

I laugh, from the sense of release more than anything else. "If I find them, I might have to ask you for further explanation."

She reddens. "Not a chance." She pauses, then adds, "So, you're having a child because you feel ready?"

"Thanks to you," I smile at her.

"I love you so much," she tells me, looking deep into my eyes. Deep enough that she sees the instinctive flinch. "What's- what's wrong?" she asks, her mood plunging again.

I can't talk to her about this. Not here. This is our place, and I can't talk about... that... here. But she's looking at me like *that* and I can't not try to explain.

"Come to the study," I tell her, my lips feeling numb, like I have to force the words out.

She nods and we get to our feet.

We arrive at the study far too quickly for my tastes, but once there she looks me dead in the mouth and says, "Talk to me. Mirabelle."

I can't. I can't talk to her about this. It's too much like Talking to her about this. And I can't do that.

So I do the only thing that I can, and tear a blank sheet of paper out of my diary.

I pause for a second, trying to think of how to explain. In the end, I can only put down the words that have haunted me for so long.

'I know my mother loved me. She told me so,' I write slowly, in as perfect a hand as I can, as if by taking care I can dispel some of the meaning behind the words. 'I know I loved my mother. She told me that too.'

Claudia reads the words once, holds one hand to her mouth, then twice, three times. She turns towards me, eyes shining and she holds me tightly.

That's what love is. I'm sorry. I can't do that to you, Claudia.

She raises her head away from, fastens her gaze on me and says, enunciating clearly as though her life depends on it, "What your mother did to you isn't love. That's not what I feel for you. You're my heart, Mirabelle, my life."

I sag a little with relief. She doesn't love me, doesn't feel what I've feared for so long. I take hold of one of her hands, and thread my fingers through hers. "You are *my* heart, Claudia. You are my life." These are words I can say. Words that aren't 'I love you.' Words that describe what she is to me. "You're my everything."

She kisses me, and all the troubles, all the upsets, all the *love* just disappears from my world, leaving nothing but happiness.

* * *

I put my book down as enthusiastic but rather off-key singing started up downstairs. What kind of circus was happening down there?

Arriving at the dining room, it was apparently the kind of circus which involved the chairs being turned so their backs were towards the table and a golden haired child *still in her dirty shoes* standing atop said table. Said girl was the source of the noise.

"*What* is happening here?" I asked with an edge in my voice.

A tousled red head poked out from underneath the table, angelic smile in place. "We're playing Tower," she told me in all seriousness.

My incipient anger stalled a bit as I tried to work out exactly what was happening. "So... What are you doing down there?" I asked my child.

"I'm the housekeeper," she told me solemnly. "Claudia's the witch, singing the storms away."

She. Was. WHAT? This yellow haired *bitch* was daring to pretend to be a witch? And my own daughter was playing the servant?

As a red haze descended across my vision, Claudia bolted past me whilst Mirabelle emerged from underneath the table, smiling placatingly at me.

How dare she do this?

 

A little while later, after I had detailed the housekeeper to clean up the mess as best she could (with a stern injunction to make sure that her daughter remembered her place and never did anything like this again), I went to find the girls. As expected, I heard voices drifting up from around the pond Mirabelle liked so much.

"No, silly," I heard Mirabelle say. "I was just clumsy again."

"My father sometimes hits me," Claudia said in a brooding voice. "One time, when he was drunk, he even broke Ellie's arm."

That wasn't right. I bit my lip in distress. Good parents shouldn't hit their children. I knew that.

"Doesn't your mother do something about it?" Mirabelle asked innocently.

Claudia laughed bitterly. "He hits her too." I heard Mirabelle gasp. "More if she tries to get in his way when he's in one of those moods. And he'll be in one of those moods tonight. He loves your mother. He'll be angry to hear that I've upset her."

I'll Talk to him. He'll never lay another finger on his children.

The girls looked up as I approached, Mirabelle smiling sunnily up at me, Claudia looking a more little cautious. I could see a bruise just starting to show on Mirabelle's arm. Oh, Mirabelle, I thought in some distress.

"I hope you children learned your lesson," I said firmly. "Mirabelle, eight years old is old enough to know better."

"Yes, ma'am," said Claudia, echoed by a "Yes, mother," from Mirabelle. Claudia at least managed to look penitent. Mirabelle was just her usual cheerful self.

I sighed.

"Since you can't behave, Claudia won't be coming to the tower for a while."

Their faces immediately fell.

Mirabelle attempted a winning smile. "Please, mother. She means so much to me."

As much as I tried, I couldn't hold out against the power of her hopeful gaze, as well as the remembrance of what Claudia had said. "Very well, I won't banish her this time. But you both had better be on your best behaviour. Or else!"

Not even the last admonition could dampen the smile that erupted on Mirabelle's face, and she bounced over and hugged me in a very unladylike fashion. I may have sighed a little, but held her anyway. Claudia, wisely, hung back and didn't attempt to join us. Her face was still a little wary, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I'd definitely have a Talk with her father later.


	4. Motherhood

Maybe a few months after our baby is born...

"You can't just keep on ignoring Imogen," Claudia tells me, with that look that says that there is no escaping this conversation.

I try anyway, the eternal optimist. "I'm hardly ignoring our child," I tell her with a smile. "I play with her almost as much as you do." Which is true, kind of.

Claudia's scowl tells me she's having none of it. "You haven't said one word to her. Ever."

My smile wavers a little. "You're voluble enough for both of us."

"How long are you planning on doing this?"

I duck my gaze away from her.

"I know you have problems talking to people, Miri, but this is our child," Claudia beseeches me.

I take a breath, letting my core contentment buoy me a little before answering.

"That's why it's so important. I- I care for her so much," my voice drops to a whisper at the last, as if to make sure there is no chance that Imogen can hear us, "That I just worry that- that will come out when I speak to her." I don't want to Tell her anything. I just want to let her be herself. To have the chances I never did.

Isn't that what we're supposed to want for our children?

"Oh, Mirabelle," Claudia sighs, and holds me tight.

After allowing myself the comfort for a few minutes, I pull back and smile at her through the tears running down my face. "You'll make a much better talking mother than I will anyway. You're much better at taking charge."

Her eyebrow raises. "Uhuh. I just take charge, do I?"

"Well I do whatever you say," I tell her with a straight face, then spoil it with a giggle. "Obviously."

"In which case, let's go see our daughter," Imogen tells me. "You might not want to talk to her just yet, but you can at least pass on your laughter."

I smile ecstatically at her and take her hand as she leads me through the tower.

Just before we enter Imogen's room, Claudia turns to me and says, "There can never be enough laughter in a house."

I don't know why, but those words send a shiver up my spine as I follow her into the room.

* * *

Food hung off seemingly every surface in the dining room. Mirabelle sat in her chair with a stupid smile on her face, as if she were proud of the havoc she had caused.

"What do you think you're doing?" I screamed at her, and I swore that her infuriating grin changed not one jot.

How could she be so... so happy all of the time? Why didn't she react when I tried to tell her off? How could I have raised such a child?

"What do you have to say for yourself?" I shouted, trying to keep a grasp on what remained of my temper. She may only be four years old, but...

She looked thoughtful for a second, and then that stupid grin reasserted itself. "It's pretty!" she pronounced, as if it was a truth of great import.

I saw red.

The next thing I knew, Mirabelle was on the floor, holding one cheek, laughing in that hiccupy way that meant she really wasn't fine.

Had I..? No. I couldn't believe that I would ever... But the evidence was right there in front of me. A glaring accusation in scarlet.

I sunk to my knees. I couldn't have done this. I was a good mother. And good mothers didn't do this.

"Mirabelle," I said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

Her hiccuping slowed, and she gave me a small smile. "Happy," she said in a small voice.

"Just happy?" I asked.

She nodded, and I went to hug her, only to see her flinch.

That hurt more than anything she could have done. She was so important to me... I couldn't bear to see her like this, to know that every time she saw me, she'd see this.

We'd be better off if this had never happened.

*She'd* be better off if this had never happened.

I could do that.

"I never hurt you," I Told her. "I would never hurt you," I Told her, wanting her to believe it, needing her to believe it.

She relaxed as it took hold, her face taking a look of curiosity as she touched her red cheek gingerly. "How did this happen, mother? I don't remember hurting it," she said in a puzzled tone.

"You fell off your chair," I Told her in a moment of inspiration, and hoped she focussed on my smile rather than my tears. "Try not to be so clumsy," I Added.

"I'm sorry," she told me in a serious tone. "I didn't mean to be so clumsy."

I shivered. I wanted that to be the last time I ever heard that phrase.

* * *

Maybe when Imogen is seven...

There's a crash from upstairs, followed by the sound of tears.

Claudia looks at me wearily across the room we're halfway done cleaning. "That doesn't sound like our daughter."

It wouldn't be. I offer her a supportive smile. "Shall we go up and see what's happened?"

As we make our way to the top floor, and my mother's old chambers, the crying gets louder. It's definitely not Imogen. Which means...

Claudia squares her shoulders as she enters the room. "What's happening here?" she says, an imtimidating glower on her face.

I know how much she hates to play the heavy, that it reminds her of her father, in one of the few things she's ever said about her family. I want to hold her, to smile the pain away, but that would rather spoil the effect. Maybe later.

A look into the room reveals my red haired daughter in the centre of the room, brandishing a glass ornament in one hand, a basket full of ammunition on the other arm. The crying is coming from a dark haired huddle in one corner, shards of glass festooning the floor around it.

At Claudia's entrance, the huddle reveals the red-eyed face of Georgina, a girl around Imogen's age from the village. Seeing Imogen's distraction, Georgina scurries for the exit, dodging past Claudia. I catch her in my arms and hug her. Over Georgina's dark curls, I can see Imogen scowling at me.

She is so angry all of the time. And I feel so helpless. Especially now that emotion is running so high. I really couldn't- couldn't say what I'd do if I said anything.

I touch Claudia and mouth to her that I'm taking Georgina downstairs to the kitchen. She gives me a quick strained smile and turns back to storm brewing inside the room.

"Don't even think about coming in this room!" I hear Imogen growl. "Not unless it's just to tidy up like a proper servant."

I gasp and I hear Claudia do the same. I hear echoes of my mother. I hear the echo of far too many of the diaries. I know Imogen has been reading them recently, but... How can she say that to her mother?

"If you want any dinner tonight, then you'll be clearing that mess up yourself *and* you'll apologise to Georgina."

I find myself hiccuping a laugh. I'm stuck at the top of the stairs, holding Georgine by the hand, and I can't go on. I can't seem to leave Imogen's poison behind. I can't leave Claudia to this.

But I can't interfere, can't say a word. Can't do that to my daughter.

I'm truly pathetic.

Imogen is far from finished. "Do that. You're just a nobody who Mirabelle has allowed to get ideas far beyond her station. If you don't allow me to eat, harm me... the tower doesn't like that. Mirabelle might be able to get away with that, but she's too wet to ever make that kind of decision. You, the tower will just swat you."

I sneak a look behind me. Claudia's still in the doorway, clenching and unclenching her fists. She glances at me, one eyebrow raised. I nod quickly.

Such things have happened in the diaries. It's never pretty.

Claudia pales a little and turns back. "I thought we had brought you up better than this, Imogen."

A laugh far too bitter for someone so young. "What's this 'we'? You're just a caretaker. And my mother? My *actual* mother? She's never even said a word to me."

In her words I hear the echo of a hundred crying fits, Imogen trying to understand why I didn't talk to her. Why I never shared her pain, always smiling no matter the occasion. Claudia's done her best to explain what we can, but I wonder if we've left it too late, already, her distress curdled to hate.

I have no experience of emotion outside a hundred shades of happiness, and I don't even know why I'm like this. Claudia might be better equipped to deal with this, but our daughter seems determined to shut her out.

I don't know what to do. I just don't know what to do.

So I do what I can. I take Georgina by the hand, and lead her downstairs. Our attempt to help Imogen by giving her a friend, a playmate, seems to have come to naught. I very much doubt her mother will allow Georgina to come back.

I know what my mother would have done. But I am not my mother.

As I leave the angry voices behind me, my natural good humour reasserts itself, driving the source of distress from my mind.

I smile at Georgina, who shyly gives me a slight smile back.

A child's smile never fails to make me happy.

* * *

Mirabelle was crying again, and she was driving me out of my mind.

I'd never imagined that babies could be so disagreeable. Weren't they supposed to just lay there and smile?

The women from the village weren't any help, either. Apparently this was completely normal, or somesuch. Or at least not that unusual.

That wasn't what I wanted to hear, and I left them know it. That stopped all disagreement. *Then* there was general acknowledgement of the trials that Mirabelle was putting me through.

Not that I wouldn't meet them. I would. I loved my daughter.

If she could just stop crying every five minutes, or so it seemed.

I did worry about her every night. I couldn't just stop singing the storms away, but I didn't like the separation.

Of course, even if she was crying then, I wouldn't be able to tell.

No nanny could look after her overnight, and I wouldn't countenance her removal.

I was a good mother, and good mothers didn't allow their offspring to be taken away on a nightly basis, I was fairly sure. Besides, who knew how the tower might react?

As far as any of us could tell, she seemed fine each morning. And the diaries never seemed to suggest a problem with leaving her in the tower.

I just worried.

I rocked her little wailing form gently in my arms. The problem wasn't her diapers. That was always the first thing that I checked. She didn't look hungry, either.

Just, I didn't know, upset.

But she couldn't be. Because I was a good mother.

"Please..." I pleaded with her. "Can you just... be happy?" I asked her. Or maybe I Told her. There might have been power there. I was too frazzled to tell.

In any case, she immediately stopped crying, and gave me the most *gorgeous* smile.

At last!

And really, even if I had used my Voice, what harm could there be in happiness?

* * *

Maybe on Imogen's eighteenth birthday...

I can hear something that I haven't heard for... over two decades. The sound of people. And it's getting louder.

I leave my room to find a window that looks over the approach to the tower, but I already know what I'll see. This day of all days. The day that Imogen comes into her power.

The beauty of the blue of hills in the distance, the shimmering green of the grasslands calls out to me before I force my focus closer to home.

Imogen is at the head of a crowd of villagers. They love her, just like they loved my mother. Exactly how they loved my mother.

I smile down at her and wave. She's still too distant for me to see clearly, but the smile she returns feels far less pleasant.

I can finally talk to my daughter without fear of Talking to her, and it's too late, it's all far too late.

I think about flying, Singing a wind to take me as far and as high as I can for as long as my breath can take me. Seeing the land stretched far beneath me, seeing what it is that I've spent my adult life protecting.

It wouldn't be a bad way to go.

Maybe I'd meet the ghost of my mother up there.

I hear footsteps up the stairs behind me and take a glance to confirm. Claudia. All thought of flying go out of my head. I grin at her, trying to lighten her strained features.

It doesn't work.

She hugs me, hard, then looks at my face wordlessly, as if memorising the sight.

"You are my heart, my life," I tell her.

She buries her head in my neck, and I feel hot liquid dripping onto my skin.

I indulge us both for a minute, then gently push her away. "You've got to get out of here. Now. She doesn't want you."

She raises a eyebrow. "I'm not leaving you."

Selfishly, I don't want her to leave either. But now isn't a time for being selfish. "Please," I ask her. "I can't imagine that she won't want to talk with me, finally. But if you're there..."

I don't know what she could do to Claudia if she really tried. And it might be enough to make me not happy.

I can't help but notice Claudia's still there. She is looking conflicted now, though, which can only be a good thing.

"Please," I ask her once more.

She nods, jerkily, then turns, making her way towards our chambers.

Through the sting of my own tears, I wish her a future. happiness. But joy isn't a gift that I can give, and even if it was, I wouldn't.

Some things should be emergent, not decreed.

I go downstairs to wait in the reception room. I can't help notice how dusty it is -- we haven't used in years.

I imagine that it'll be getting a lot more use in future.

I smile as I see a spider weaving a fresh web in one corner.

The web may be gone tomorrow, with a harsh new cleaning regime, but all we have is now. And there is joy in that.

All I have is now.

The sounds from the approaching crowd are even louder now. They're probably getting close. I could stay here, but it might give Claudia longer if I go and greet them in front of the tower.

I wish that I had had a little more warning. I could have made refreshments. After over two decades in the kitchen, I like to think I'm quite handy there.

No matter. Time to take my place in the sunlight.

 

Birds wheel above, ever moving, somehow never hitting each other, always in formation.

Do they have someone Telling them what to do? Or is just who they are?

Is there a difference, really?

Who would I have been without my mother's words? I've been so molded, it's hard to tell what the natural shape of my personality would have been.

But isn't that true for anyone? Certainly when I met her, Claudia was almost a much a product of her parents and her caretakers as I was.

I guess it's a matter of flexibility. There are some things I can't change, no matter how much I'd want to.

Of course, I'm happy with that. I don't have the option to be otherwise.

I smile up at the sky dreamily.

A hard slap to my face focuses my attention a little closer to home.

"Are you paying attention now, mother?" Imogen hisses. She looks small again from where I'm hanging, hands bound above my head, but the Tower rising up behind her lends her solidity and size.

"Sorry," I apologise lightly. "I must be getting a little light-headed."

A scowl and a glance at the man on the ladder next to my position earns me another blow.

I contemplate a Word or even a Song, but I can't muster the enthusiasm. It's hardly the fault of the villagers, and I know who'd win in any contest between Imogen and I.

She's the new witch. I'm just a footnote, a diary.

It's the way my mother went. Even after all these years, I don't truly know if the stumble that killed her was an accident, the Tower or...

I loved her, but love was far from the only emotion in the mix when it came to her.

"I've heard that in some far-off lands, they burn witches," Imogen says conversationally.

"That would be a pretty way to go," I muse. Imogen's eyes flicker with emotion, which resolves into frustration and another blow.

This time the wet trickle down my face is sticky and scarlet.

I do hope Claudia got away.

I try and focus. There are things that I would like to say, but the situation makes it so hard to concentrate on them.

It's so much easier to dwell on happier things.

"I'm sorry," I tell her, forcing as much emotion as I can into my voice.

She regards me skeptically. "I'm sure you are. It's a little too late for that now, though."

A smile returns to my face, impossible to banish for long. "Not this." I wave a hand, trying to indicate my current position. "I regret not..." I search for words that don't trigger unpleasant connections in my mind "Helping you be happier."

Not making her happy. Never that.

"It's hard to do that when you never even acknowledge my existence," she sneers. My attention wanders a little, before it snaps back with a vengeance as she screams, "Like you're having problems doing even now."

It's so difficult to look at her. It hurts so much.

"I just want you to know that I care for you. Deeply." And it's all me. "I always did."

"Really."

"That's why it was so hard. A single word could have shaped you." A single word can contain so much longing.

I can see that she doesn't understand. I conceal the smile the thought gives me, that that's a good thing. Not even Claudia understands, not really. No one who hasn't been through what I have can.

"I went through my entire childhood without a mother who would even say a single word to me, and that's all you've got to say? Don't you think *that* shaped me?"

"You had Claudia." Claudia, flying free, taking my heart with her. Surely if Imogen had captured her, she'd have been presented by now.

"She was just someone from the village you took because you were lonely. She wasn't one of us. She wasn't a witch." Imogen takes a breath before adding, "She wasn't you."

"What do you want of me now?" It's a question that she hasn't answered yet. I wonder if even she knows the answer.

"I want you *gone*, mother. I want you eradicated, never to bother me again, not even as one of your ghosts." She makes a motion, and I know it's coming. The end she has planned for me.

I stare at her, trying to imprint the image of my beautiful daughter as deeply as I can, to take as much of her as possible with me on my long trip. The dying sunlight glints off her hair, reminding me that she'll soon be starting her first song.

I wonder if I'll live long enough to hear it.

I wish that I could see Claudia one last time.

"Could I ask you for one final thing?" I say as shapes begin to ripple through the crowd towards me. It looks like wood.

The fire wasn't an idle threat then.

She pauses for a second, then nods cautiously. "What is it?"

"Could I give you one last goodnight kiss?" Our ritual, the one contact that I always permitted myself, no matter how hard it was to not follow it up.

Her eyes glitter, for the first time I've seen in years, and she nods.

Thank you, Imogen.

She comes over to where I'm bound and climbs a little way up the ladder, moving close enough that I can kiss her on the forehead.

"My baby," I sigh.

She jumps back down the ladder and away, as though I've stung her, as the wood is piled up around my feet.

"Goodbye, mother," she says, steadfastly looking away.

A villager approaches with a torch. I find myself contemplating the sky again, and I don't even try to fight the urge.

It's a beautiful sunset. There are far worse days to die.

The smoke smells almost perfumed. I wonder what wood they're using. Imogen is so like her grandmother in her flare for the dramatic.

I do hope that this isn't some villager heirloom they've turned into kindling.

No matter how good the smoke smells, it makes me cough anyway. I can't sing now, probably can't even speak.

There's sound, but it doesn't mean a thing.

I'm happy, at peace.

There's a jolt, a motion like falling and suddenly the air around me is cleaner, fresher. My weight is off my shoulders and I'm being carried by strong arms. By the time I can see anything through my streaming eyes, I have been stretched out on the ground and I can breathe. I can breathe.

Something else to smile about.

Imogen's face is above me, her eyes red. She's crying.

Don't cry, I try to tell her. Fly free. But my voice hasn't recovered enough, and all I can do is cough.

"Get out of here," she says roughly. "And never come back. I don't want to see you ever again." She stands up and out of my field of view. "Now, I've got a storm to sing away," she says, her voice receding.

By the time I feel strong enough to prop myself up, the villagers have gone, night has fallen and I can hear my daughter's voice over the storm. She's singing beautifully, so beautifully that I don't even realise that I'm crying.

There's movement by the groves of trees around the pool and I see Claudia emerge.

I get to my feet and move over towards her.

"I thought that you were supposed to be away from here," I mouth to her.

She raises an eyebrow. "And you really thought that I would just obey you."

I smiled. "I'd hoped." I didn't want you to witness what I thought would happen. But she's right. I didn't really believe that she'd leave me.

She reaches out and clutches one of my hands, hard. "What now?"

"I have to leave. Forever."

Do you want to come with me? To leave our daughter behind?

She nods, once. "It's probably just as well I packed for that," she says. Claudia, ever practical.

"What would I do without you?"

She half-smiles and shakes her head, but I can still see the tears in her eyes. Both as a reaction to before, and to the sure knowledge that we're leaving everything we know behind.

The distress this causes makes it hard for me to concentrate, but I persist. For her.

There must be something I can do.

Inspiration strikes. "Do you want to you hear her sing?" I ask.

She looks dumbfounded for a second. The idea is manifestly inpractical, some might even say asinine.

But she smiles, the first proper smile I've seen since this mess started. "Yes. Please."

Sometimes the best ideas are like that.

 

I touch Claudia's shoulder. She blinks and focusses on me.

I point towards the sky outside our bedroom window. "The night's over half gone. We need to get going."

She smiles at me sadly. "Give me a minute, will you?" She roots under the bed, before retrieving a package. Imogen's birthday present. She looks at it for a moment. "Do you think she'll still want it?"

I trace the outside of the box with one finger. "We can only try."

There's always hope, after all.

I lean over and kiss Claudia. "It's a wonderful idea."

"I thought that you might like it."

We place the package in front of her bedroom door, with a note from the both of us.

And then we leave.

Always before, when I've left the Tower, there's been a resistance, an almost instinctual knowledge of the limits that circumscribe my world.

This time there is nothing.

I'm free.

I can see the world.

For the first time, I have a future that is of my own making, that has not been preordained since before I was born.

So many possibilities.

It's a heady feeling and I find myself dancing for joy, Claudia looking on fondly with a distinctly amused air.

"Come on. Time to enjoy the beauty of the night or whatever later," she says after a few minutes.

I'll have to explain later.

Maybe on the journey. My journey! I hug myself a little.

As we leave the solidity of the tower behind us, my mind drifts back towards the song I can still hear from its heights.

How will she be?

Will she find her heart? Or does using her Voice like she does make it impossible?

I hope not, for my child's sake.

What kind of mother will she be?

There must be a better way, beyond my mother's shaping and my own semi neglect.

Maybe she'll be what I wasn't: a good mother.

* * *

I fell back against the pillows, gasping, as the world receded into a shadow-rimmed haze. It was finally over. Blindly, I stretched out a hand, moving more by instinct than purpose until skin met stone. The shock of contact pierced the cotton wool cloud around my thoughts, brought sharp-edged awareness of my body's many complaints until those, too, were driven away. Better. That was better. No, more than better: I had done it!

I had done it.

Belatedly, I became aware that someone was speaking to me, the words coming as if from a great distance.

"It's a girl, Lady." I rolled my eyes at the midwife's pronouncement. Of course it was a girl. I was a witch, and my child was going to be a witch. That was how these things worked. Didn't these peasants know anything? I opened my mouth to express my irritation, but then she held out a tiny, wrapped bundle and all thought of speech was driven from my mind. Gingerly, I took my daughter into my arms, instinctively drawing her to my body as she started to squirm. I rocked her gently back and forth until she settled into my embrace, giving a small, satisfied sigh as she burrowed into me. Wide-eyed with wonder, I pulled the swaddling cloth aside so I could gaze upon the miracle I had created.

She was perfect. My daughter was perfect. I wanted to Sing out my joy to the world.

"How are you going to name her, Lady?" Oh. The midwife. I had forgotten that the peasant woman was still here, so enraptured I had been with the treasure I held to my breast. For some reason, I found myself answering her question.

"Mirabelle," I breathed. "My daughter is called Mirabelle."

The woman started to prattle some other inanity, but I sent her away, dismissing her from my thoughts before she had even reached the door. Now it was just me and my daughter. The way it was meant to be.

Laying a featherlight kiss upon Mirabelle's forehead, I spoke softly to her, confirming the promise I made her when she was a mere mote within my body.

"You're my daughter, my darling girl, and I love you very much. I'm going to be the best mother a girl could ever have."

And I would be. I wasn't going to repeat my own mother's mistakes. No. My daughter would have all the love and happiness that I could only dream of. This was going to be perfect. I was going to be perfect.

A perfect mother.


End file.
